


Truth be Told for Candygramme

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Christmas in the Bunker, Crack, Crowley's Christmas Fic Exchange!, M/M, Multi, the bunker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 17:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13172145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: Powdered what? This is what happens when you let idiots prepare drinks!





	Truth be Told for Candygramme

**Author's Note:**

  * For [candygramme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/candygramme/gifts).



> Prompt: Someone put something in the eggnog that makes everyone tell the truth.

_Eggnog: While culinary historians debate its exact lineage, most agree **eggnog** originated from the early medieval Britain “posset,” a hot, milky, ale-like drink. By the 13th century, monks were known to drink a posset with eggs and figs._

Dean squints at his laptop screen and curses when he finds yet another _explanation_ for the origins of the drink he’s trying to make, instead of an actual bonafide recipe. “I don’t care when it was invented or how fuckin’ frothy it’s meant to be, I just wanna know how many litres of rum to put in it. Is that _so_ hard?”

Sam wanders in behind Dean, who’s inches away from smashing his forehead into the kitchen counter over and over again. “ **Litres**? How much of it are you planning on making?”

Dean slams his laptop shut and spins to face Sam. “We’ve got a Bunker full this year. You, me, Mum, Jody, Donna, Claire, Castiel, Crowley, Rowena - “

Sam almost drops the cup of coffee he’s been nursing for an hour. “ _Crowley and Rowena_? **Seriously**?! Okay who are you and what have you done with my brother? There’s no fucking way the man I know would invite two of the world’s most evil creatures into his home for the holiday season.”

Dean sighs and shakes his head before slumping into a chair with his laptop. “Sammy, which is worse? Crowley the King of Douche and his Maniacal Witch of a Mother out there doin’ Chuck knows what on Christmas Day, probably boiling babies for their dinner if their normal antics are anything to go by, or we have them in here where we can keep an eye on them and make sure they don’t try and do something hideous like burn Santa Claus alive.”

The picture Dean’s painting isn’t exactly pretty and Sam feels his egg-white omelette threatening a reappearance. “Dude, gross, and - no that’s it - gross! But, you’ve got a point. Okay so what’s the problem, why are you yelling at an inanimate object?”

Dean reopens his laptop and gestures towards the screen. “This fuckin’ thing won’t tell me how to actually **make** eggnog. If I want to know which medieval monk added what type of fig to it, I’ve got the goods right here, but will it cough up a real recipe? Will it fuck!”

Sam smirks at Dean’s frustrated teeth grinding and pats him on the head. “There there, luddite, shift over, watch the master at work.”

Dean refuses to move, making Sam lean over his shoulder. “You should know how to make it, smartass, you nearly gave me alcohol poisonin’ just before I was meant to go on a date with a pile of droolin’ Hellhounds, remember?”

“Ha, yeah, your face was a picture. That was a long time ago though and unlike _you_ I don’t keep a Mary Berry style recipe notebook, you complete and utter woman.”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest and hurumphs before shoving at Sam’s hip with his shoulder. “Just because I _can_ cook doesn’t mean I’ve got girl parts; you know full well I’m all man.”

Sam and Dean continue to bicker as Sam finally manages to drag up a recipe that doesn’t sound like it will land them all in the emergency room on Christmas Day. “Happy now? Can I go back to being bored and watching Say Yes To The Dress Christmas edition, please?”

“And you call **me** a woman!”

“Just don’t burn the kitchen down like last time, okay?”

“That wasn’t my fault, you distracted me whilst I was tryin’ to figure out how to flambe the dessert.”

“Woman.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This has gotta be the strangest holiday set-up known to man. In all of human history Sam doesn’t think there’s been a more ragtag band of oddballs gathered around a table, tucking into piles of yams and roast beef, practically drowning in thick salty gravy. What’s even more weird is he’s having a fucking good time.

Even Crowley’s increasingly disgusting Christmas anecdotes about past soul claimings, and his favourite ways to torture people, isn’t putting Sam off his food.

Admittedly Jody did do a double take when she walked in and found her smooth English accented date from a couple of years ago sitting at the table and picking his teeth with one of Sam’s precious iPad stylus’. She’d soon gotten over it though and is now laughing at his nicknames for Sam and Dean, whilst Rowena keeps making him growl as she calls him by his given name.

“ _Fergus_? Oh man, the King of Mean was a badly-named Scotsman? Perfect.”

“Thank you ever so bloody much, Mother. Is there anyone you haven’t told about my _real_ name?”

“Oh shut ya whinin’ ya wee cry baby, I’m sure there’s a couple a people in my spell circle I haven’t told, yet.”

Dean’s currently trying to not so subtly wipe a gallon of gravy off his chin whilst Mary eyes him with a mixture of disgusted fondness and amusement. “Where did I go wrong? I’m sure you never shovelled food into your mouth when you were a little boy.”

Claire snorts and tries to snatch Sam’s beer off the table before getting her hand slapped by Donna.

“What’s so funny, squirt?”

“Don’t call me squirt, old timer, and the last time I checked you were incapable of eating anything without trying to lick the pattern off the plate. I almost lost a hand last time we shared a bowl of fries.”

Castiel watches everyone interacting and thinks perhaps this day wasn’t such a bad idea, despite the fact he told Dean in no uncertain terms that it would only end up in death or dismemberment. 

As the conversation and mostly good natured ribbing continues, Dean smiles to himself and nods at Sam who’s got a stupidly large grin on his face. 

Leaning across the table and whispering not so quietly, Dean smirks and rolls his eyes at his brother. “And you thought we’d all end up in a vat of boilin’ oil or somethin’. No faith, Sammy, no faith.”

Crowley clears his throat and tilts his head. “The day is still young, Squirrel.”

Jody shocks them all by fluttering her eyelashes at Crowley and exaggeratedly simpering in his direction. “Promises, promises.”

Donna giggles and Mary laughs loudly, whilst Dean looks horrified. “ **Jody**! He tried to make you choke on your own lungs!”

“And still not my worst date.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The food has been consumed, glasses have been raised, the presents exchanged, and it’s with full bellies and sluggish brains that Crowley, Castiel, Sam, Dean, Mary, Claire, Jody, Donna and Rowena lounge around in the library, all groaning every time they even think about moving.

“Dean, I hate to give you a compliment at any time, because you don’t need a bigger head than you’ve already got, but that was a bloody good meal. Well done, Squirrel.”

“Hear hear. I know I do not usually eat, but the molecules of that roasted beast were positively delicious.”

Sam chuckles at Castiel, watches a blush creep up Dean’s neck, and nudges his brother’s shoulder. “Yeah, Dean, nice. Although I’m not gonna be able to bend over for a week.”

Dean turns, smirks at Sam, and winks. “We’ll see about that, Sammy.”

Sam’s face loses all colour as he scans the room, checking to see if anyone has picked up on Dean’s lascivious eyebrow waggle, before shooting him a death stare and hissing under his breath. “Shut up.”

It’s only Jody and Crowley who seem to have noticed the exchange, and they’re far too busy flirting up a storm in the corner to bother calling the brothers on it.

Dean grins at Sam’s flustered throat clearing and pulls himself off the couch. “Time for the eggnog, I think.”

Donna opens her mouth to agree and burps loudly, causing everyone in the room to fall about laughing. “Oops, excuse me. Eatin’ your cookin’ seems to make people act like you, Dean.”

“Cheeky bitch. No eggnog for you.”

“Oh, now, come on, there’s no need to be cruel.”

Dean waddles out into the kitchen to retrieve the big crystal bowl full of sticky, yellow, alcohol filled goodness and is half tempted to take a quick nip before bringing it into the library. Checking no one’s followed him into the room, Dean dunks a glass cup into the concoction undulating in the bowl and drinks deeply. “Hmmm, not bad, even if I do say so myself.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean walks carefully into the library, cradling the over full bowl of eggnog in his arms, and almost chokes as Donna tries to mime out _Basic Instinct_ in the extremely pornagraphic game of cherades that seems to have sprung up in his absence.

“Just a small tip, love - “

“That’s what I heard, Crowley.”

“Fuck off, Moose. Anyway - Donna, sweety, maybe don’t try miming the interrogation scene whilst standing up, you look like a demented penguin.”

“You’ve got room to talk Mister _I-Like-To-Wear-Suits-And-Ties-Even-When-I’m-Full-Of-Beef-And-My-Buttons-Are-Popping-Off_ , and if you know what it is, say it, spoil sport!”

“Fine, fine, _Basic Instinct_ , thank Lucifer you didn’t decide to do it the way she did, I don’t think I could take that straight after eating.”

“You - you - dick!”

A round of applause goes up and Donna preens before putting a tick in her column on the board standing in the middle of the room and sitting down next to Mary, who’s trying to figure out how to mime _Satan_ when half the people in the room have actually met the man.

Dean snorts, shakes his head and puts the sloshing bowl of eggnog on the table in the middle of the room. “Soups on, kiddies.”

Sam slides forward on the couch and Jody practically mows Claire down to get to the bowl. 

“Nice, Jodes, nice, and me an impressionable youth. Would you just like a straw with the bowl?”

“Would you stop judging me if I said you could have a glass?”

“Yes, definitely, yes.”

“Then shut up and have a drink.”

Castiel eyes the yellow custard like mixture with distrust and dips a fingertip into the bowl before sucking it into his mouth. “Dear lord, what did you put in this, one thousand percent proof rum?”

Dean chuckles but refuses to answer as he dunks his cup back into the bowl.

One by one everyone takes a glass cup and makes almost orgasmic noises as they swallow deep, and Dean gives himself a mental pat on the back.

“So, Squirrel, just out of interest, which recipe did you use?”

“The one Sam found, why?”

“Because I can taste something that clearly shouldn’t be in a batch of eggnog in this place.” Turning to Sam, Crowley raises an eyebrow and smirks. “By any chance did you happen upon the Witches Brew website and find their _traditional_ recipe for eggnog, oh great and intelligent Moose?”

“Ummm, maybe, well, I mean Dean was in a huff and he wanted a quick recipe and - have I fucked up?”

Crowley takes the greatest pleasure in the utter lack of control over his answer. “Let’s put it this way, Long’n’Tall, don’t ask me how I _really_ feel about you for the next four hours because powdered stag horn tends to bring out the honesty in whoever’s consumed it.”

Sam’s eyes go wide and Dean’s about to give his brother a major telling off when Jody steps up in front of Crowley and smiles not so coyly. “And there I was hoping powdered stag horn did something a little south of the brain stem.”

Dean tries not to let that image infiltrate his food and alcohol addled brain before pointing a finger at his friend and shouting. “Jody, STOP IT!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You have absolutely no appreciation of the lengths I go to for you pair of plaid clad neanderthals.”

“Oh, oh, really, Cas? And what exactly do you think it is I do all day, hmm?”

“Watch porn and eat, and occasionally go and rub yourself against the side of that damned car, which by the way is UGLY!”

“I’ve never - okay once - but I was drunk and she’s so smooth and shiny and cool and - SAM,MAKE ME STOP! Wait, ugly, UGLY?!”

“Guys, guys, let it go, it’s the stag horn talking, not - “

“Sammy, baby, I think we’re all aware of Dean’s unhealthy obsession with that car. Speaking of, do you have any idea how many times your father and I shined her hood? I do hope you bleached her when you got her.”

“Oh Mom, GROSS. I’m gonna have to dip my ass in Ajax.”

“Dean, honey, by the sounds of your extracurricular activities you should be regularly bathing in sheep dip.”

“I’ve got a good recipe for detoxifyin’, if anyone’s interested?”

“Rowena, sweetums, not to be too mean or anythin, but if you’ve got a recipe for detoxification then I’d rather drink yak urine. You clearly either _love_ bein’ toxic, you’re not buyin’ what you’re tryin’ to sell, or it doesn’t work!”

“How very fuckin’ rude, think yaself lucky that the lumberin’ morons that own this wee hidey hole put a wardin’ spell on it, or I’d turn ya int’a rat!”

“Guys, seriously, I’m gonna need a decade’s worth of therapy as it is, can we not discuss Dean’s unnatural need to be one with his penis extension?”

“ **Claire** \- where did you learn that phrase?”

“What, penis extension? Jodes, judging by the way you’re rubbing up against Crowley’s knee I’d say I learned it from you. Speaking of, you know he’s about a thousand years old, right? I ‘spose that’s better than Bobby but - “

“Really Claire, you’ve got some room to talk - parking with Vampires is way better than making out with a guy in a baseball cap, isn’t it?”

“SAM you promised you wouldn’t tell anyone, and it was ONE Vampire, one!”

Crowley stands, cupping Jody’s ass and smirking at the chaos erupting around him, and chuckles at Mary’s eyes bulging as she chews on her entire fist, trying not to open her mouth and tell everyone she’s been humping Ketch, or the fact that she hates plaid, which her sons seem to be permanently covered in.

Crowley turns to Rowena, still cradling Jody who’s having trouble forming sentences, thank heavens, and grins like the cat that got the cream. “Ahhh, mother, it reminds me of Christmases at home, me huddled by the fire whilst you cursed the locals and drank more than your bodyweight in virgin’s blood.”

Rowena appears to be swallowing her tongue, she’s choking and her eyes are wide and red rimmed, and it’s with a great amount of effort that she tries and fails to bite back the words which will haunt Crowley for the rest of his existence.

“Fergus, I - I - I LOVE YOU!”

 

 

End!


End file.
